Kurt Wagner is Forever
by Blue Frodo
Summary: From the Nightscrawlearth AU RP. Nightcrawler is a priest who works as an investigator for "Eximius Hominus" - an inquiry into mutants as a worldwide miracle. Before that he had an "infamous past" in Hollywood as a drunk.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Preface:**

This story goes with a much larger universe, populated by many characters created by lots of different people. Because of that, it may not be very satisfying on it's own (or make a lot of sense since a lot of this back story exists solely to explain things that Nightcrawler, as Father Wagner, says and does almost 20 years later.)

To get the full picture I would suggest visiting and reading the following"instances" (the game's word for character interactions played outside the arc of the larger game plot) :

6/29 Instance: Fight fight!

7/05 - Deliberations, Negotiations, and Revelations.

7/10 Instance: Saint Wagner

7/17 Instance: Secret Mustard

7/23 Instance: Why Wagner is afraid of books

7/24 Instance: Twaching

christmas thread: Wagner

8/14 Instance: The Exorcist

8/19 Instance: Better than Monster Movies

8/24 Instance: Even Fruitcakes Have Layers

That should help get you started on who Father Wagner is and why this back story exists in the first place.

hr 

Now 

Frozen in time and motion, the photographers and reporters were locked in a tableau of silent activity. They were caught as though in action, like a frame of film in which they were pressing shutters, waving pencils, and brandishing small tape recorders, with their mouths open as if in speech and yet completely without sound. They surrounded their subject, a figure who was also motionless, lying on the ground and curled up on his side.

A balding man in a motorized wheelchair rolled up and surveyed the scene, shaking his head sadly. A single companion stood several steps behind him, appearing like something of a bodyguard. He had a vaguely simian posture that made him appear much less intelligent than he actually was. The balding man nodded wordlessly and his companion stepped forward at the unspoken command, nimbly finding his way through the stationary crowd. He scooped the fallen man up from the ground easily, as though he was lifting a small child, and carried him back.

"Will he be all right?" The man in the chair asked.

"I think so."

"Good."

As the three of them were pulling away in a black limousine, the circle of reporters appeared to thaw, slowly to come to life again. As though under a hypnotists spell they began ripping up pages, erasing tapes, and scribbling over lines of notes. Photographers opened their cameras, letting the exposed film spill out into the light or discarded the memory of their digital cameras. When they were finished with these tasks, they came fully awake, unaware of what they'd done, or what they'd seen.

The last 15 minutes of their lives had been erased. Permanently.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Preface:**

This story goes with a much larger universe, populated by many characters created by lots of different people. Because of that, it may not be very satisfying on it's own (or make a lot of sense since a lot of this back story exists solely to explain things that Nightcrawler, as Father Wagner, says and does almost 20 years later.)

To get the full picture I would suggest visiting and reading the following"instances" (the game's word for character interactions played outside the arc of the larger game plot) :

6/29 Instance: Fight fight!

7/05 - Deliberations, Negotiations, and Revelations.

7/10 Instance: Saint Wagner

7/17 Instance: Secret Mustard

7/23 Instance: Why Wagner is afraid of books

7/24 Instance: Twaching

christmas thread: Wagner

8/14 Instance: The Exorcist

8/19 Instance: Better than Monster Movies

8/24 Instance: Even Fruitcakes Have Layers

That should help get you started on who Father Wagner is and why this back story exists in the first place.

hr 

**2 years earlier**

Kurt Wagner was famous now.

_Dying is Forever_ had been a blockbuster hit on movie screens across America. Despite the many predictions that the world wasn't ready for blue mutants with tails, every newspaper, review, and magazine was proving those predictions wrong. Not only was the world was willing to accept Kurt Wagner, they adored him. It seemed to him that on the film's opening night, he had gone to sleep a virtual unknown and woken up a celebrity.

He hadn't minded it so much at first. After all, he had performed with Cirque du Soleil and that afforded him a certain amount of celebrity in the circus world. But Cirque du Soleil was nothing compared to this. His blue skin and tail and his "devilishly handsome good looks", (he swore if he read that in one more magazine…), made him instantly recognizable everywhere he went. He couldn't get a moment of peace. Ever.

And it was such a change from growing up. As a child people had the exact opposite reaction to him. They had feared his appearance. His mother's own family had been so ashamed of her unusual offspring that they had tried to drown Kurt in a bag like one does with an unwanted puppy or kitten. She had, runaway from her wealthy parents and taken the burden on by herself, finding the one place that would accept Kurt for who and what he was, the local circus sideshow.

It was here that Kurt's other talents had blossomed, first as an acrobat and later as a sort of one-man magic act with his ability to teleport from one place to another. There had never been a time in Kurt's memory when he wasn't the main attraction, the star of the show. He'd liked it. But there had been a slow progression and he'd had his family with him, both his mother and his extended circus family.

But European traveling circuses are always about 15 years out of date; everything from the vehicles to the lifestyles were from the past. That, added to the protective circle the circus created around him, Kurt's view of the world was incredibly naïve. He'd spent his entire life either with the circus or with his mother at Mass in tiny village churches where the circus would stop. He'd grown up sheltered from the modern world in a version of Europe that was at least 15 years out of date.

Before joining Cirque du Soleil and living in Montreal, he'd never visited a modern restaurant or a shopping mall and they had fascinated Kurt. He spent three years on tour with Cirque du Soleil and even though the tour had been grueling with stops in hundreds of cities, he was used to traveling. And he hadn't seen enough of America from the seat of the tour bus. It was amazing, he'd never been anywhere like it. And so when the tour was over, he wasn't ready to return to Europe. Not yet at least.

So when a Hollywood production company approached Kurt with a script for a movie, he was interested. He knew nothing about movies, or acting, or the movie business. He hadn't realized that both before and after the film's release he would have to go on "press junkets" and attend awards shows. He saw it like another circus job, but with lines of dialogue to remember and say. And, they were going to let him do his own stunts. He'd signed on immediately.

Making the film had been fine. And he hadn't minded the initial press exposure, but it had since worn thin. Now, as he was instantly recognizable everywhere he went, life had simply become exhausting. He was discovering that the idealized modern America he had viewed from the windows of the Cirque du Soleil tour bus was very different from the reality of the one he lived in and now bound to a film contract, it was too late for him to do anything about it.

As Kurt weaved his way through the grocery store, he found himself stopping every few steps to sign something ("To Mel, All my love, Kurt", he didn't even know her) or pose for a photo with people he'd never met. Around him, he could hear people alternately shouting "Wagner" and "The Nightcrawler", his character's German Intelligence code name; it was a miracle he didn't go crazy every time he left the house. At least they weren't chasing him with torches and pitchforks. And this always helps too, he thought as he added several bottles of Stoli to his grocery trolley.

Outside, Kurt signed a few more autographs as he loaded his grocery bags into the trunk of his car and thought about putting the top down and taking a drive. It was actually nice out, not too hot. Living in Los Angeles hadn't agreed with Kurt as much as he'd expected it would. Besides the fact that he couldn't leave his house without getting mobbed by people, it was hot there, desert hot. Some of the other places he had visited had seemed so much nicer; how was it that he had gotten stuck in this furnace?

But today was not so bad and Kurt knew that if he got far enough out of town, and drove fast enough, no one would recognize him. And he did like driving…

"Excuse me."

Kurt was yanking on his car's convertible roof when he turned and saw a man in a wheelchair rolling towards him.

"You're Kurt Wagner?" the man asked.

Kurt nodded in silence. He could count on one hand the number of times in the U.S. his name had been pronounced correctly. Now he was going to have to start using the other hand.

The man wordlessly handed Kurt a small card. Kurt flashed a patronizing smile, took out his pen, signed it, and handed it back.

"Oh, no, that's for you," the man said, "I think you'll find it interesting."

Kurt turned it over curiously. "Charles Xavier: Creating a Future for Gifted Individuals." And then it had an address in New York. He didn't understand.

Kurt nodded politely and smiled. "Well, thank you. It does look very interesting." He said. There was an awkward silence. Kurt wondered if he should just get in his car and go.

"Kurt, I'd like to invite you to dinner." The man said.

Kurt had been standing outside his car with the door open. Now he sat down inside and shut it. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't do that."

"It's very important." The man persisted.

"Why is that?"

"It's too much to explain here. Please, accept my invitation." The man sounded almost desperate now.

Kurt scratched his chin, making it look like he was really interested. "Where?" he asked.

"At my hotel room. We can talk there. Privately." The man said.

Kurt grimaced. "I'm sorry," he said "but those aren't the kinds of invitations I accept," he said. He didn't wait for the man to answer, the creepy man in his wheelchair with his business cards. He stamped on the accelerator and skidded out of the parking lot, leaving behind the smell of brakes and a burned clutch.

This wasn't what he expected when he signed that movie contract. He had to get out of Los Angeles, out of the movie business, out of America. He hated this, all of it. He'd had enough and wanted to get out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Preface:**

This story goes with a much larger universe, populated by many characters created by lots of different people. Because of that, it may not be very satisfying on it's own (or make a lot of sense since a lot of this back story exists solely to explain things that Nightcrawler, as Father Wagner, says and does almost 20 years later.)

To get the full picture I would suggest visiting and reading the following"instances" (the game's word for character interactions played outside the arc of the larger game plot) :

6/29 Instance: Fight fight!

7/05 - Deliberations, Negotiations, and Revelations.

7/10 Instance: Saint Wagner

7/17 Instance: Secret Mustard

7/23 Instance: Why Wagner is afraid of books

7/24 Instance: Twaching

christmas thread: Wagner

8/14 Instance: The Exorcist

8/19 Instance: Better than Monster Movies

8/24 Instance: Even Fruitcakes Have Layers

That should help get you started on who Father Wagner is and why this back story exists in the first place.

hr 

One Week Earlier 

Kurt could remember when flying in airplanes frightened him. He'd taken his first plane ride on a transcontinental flight from Munich to New York's JFK and had spent both the takeoff and landing curled up in a tight ball in his seat. He hadn't much liked the time en route either; nine uncomfortable hours with nothing to do but try to sleep, which was impossible, or talk to Michelle, the talent scout who was taking him all the way to Montréal; the whole time knowing there was just another flight ahead of them. But a few years of touring had made air travel all but routine.

Airports and airplanes weren't so bad because everyone seemed to realize that even famous people needed to fly too. Kurt sat at the airport bar closest to his gate in, what was for him, relative anonymity. Someone even bought a round for him and in return he'd bought a round for the bar in what he felt was a tacit agreement not to talk to him. He checked his watch and frowned, Los Angeles to New York; it was a long flight and he never could sleep on a plane. He ordered a Stoli on the rocks and drank it quickly before departing the comparative safety of the bar for his gate.

Kurt had two reasons for being in New York, the reason his agent and producer knew about and his real reason. The one that his production company knew about was that his press agent had booked him on one of those late night television interview shows. Letterman, Kurt thought it was, or maybe it was Leno. He'd have to check his papers when he got to the hotel.

More important to Kurt though, was that Cirque du Soleil was here and in two days none other than Guy LaLiberté would be arriving. He would be here in person to see the progress of the new Cirque show and do some press interviews as well. Kurt and Guy were still close, closer than Guy was to most of Cirque's ex-performers, but then again, Kurt was special. Hopefully he could talk to Guy, at least for a little while. Maybe Guy would understand what was going on and help get him out of this crazy life he was caught in. He couldn't think of anyone else who could.

Kurt carried his suitcase to the curb and held his hand out for a taxi. He always felt strange doing these things that had been done for him for so long, first by his mother, then by the circuses he worked for, and eventually by various filmset gofers. But Kurt liked it. He liked being independent, doing things for himself at last, and no longer being treated like an "exhibit" or a performing animal.

Yet, Kurt knew it was all a façade because as independent as he was, he had also spent two years endlessly stalked by cameramen and people with notebooks and tape recorders. Everything he did, even the things he bdidn't/b do were newsworthy in the eyes of the entertainment media. His popularity should have run its course a long time ago. The movie was out, long out of the spotlight. It had had its run in the theaters, gone to video, to cable, and played during transcontinental flights. And yet to the press it seemed that Kurt Wagner was forever. A week didn't go by that he didn't find himself the subject of some new media rumor that set cameramen camping on his lawn and trying to tap his phone.

He wasn't really a movie star at all; just a circus freak like before, only on a much larger and more perilous stage. It seemed to him that his independence had been bought for far too high a price.

As a taxi skidded to the curb Kurt hoped that Letterman or Leno or whoever it was wouldn't bring up the Mayo Clinic thing again. Nobody would let that die. Doctors from the Mayo Clinic wanted to examine him, do a full genetic analysis and Kurt had refused, claiming that it was an invasion of his privacy.

It was the media fervor du jour and they had gleefully taken it in all different crazy directions, such as suggesting that Kurt was a Russian spy with sophisticated nanotechnology that would be detectable by the clinic's tests. Others speculated that perhaps Kurt's body was likely endowed with healing powers and that by refusing to allow medical exploration he was perhaps dooming a whole nation to death and disease. Kurt didn't see how any of this was reasonable or relevant, yet it all made the news.

"Mind if we share?" A large man with a rumpled suit and two suitcases was standing next to him.

"I'd rather not," Kurt said. He leaned down to get his suitcase and when he straightened the man had already loaded his into the cab's trunk and was shutting it. The man gave Kurt a jaunty kind of "finders keepers" shrug as he got in and closed the door.

Kurt sighed and looked at his watch. Was New York time backwards or forwards from California time? He could never remember. He held out his hand and hailed another cab. As he slid himself and his suitcase into the seat he withdrew a bottle from his coat pocket and shook two pills into his hand. He was supposed to take them every four hours so that was…Now? It was close enough.

He was feeling a lot more relaxed by the time the cab arrived at his hotel. No one had asked for autographs, taken pictures, called him "The Nightcrawler" or anything. He was starting to like New York. Any feeling of calm he had was utterly shattered, by the gauntlet of photographers that awaited him at the hotel's entrance. It was worse than anything he'd had to deal with in Los Angeles, except the award shows where everyone was equally molested by the press. He quickly pulled his suitcase from the cab and dashed into the hotel under a shower flashes and a hail of questions.

He arrived at the hotel's front desk feeling exhausted, like he'd always felt when he left his house in Los Angeles. Any hopes that New York was going to offer anything better were dashed. He pulled out his handkerchief, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"How did they know I was coming?" He asked.

"Oh, it's not you Mr. Wagner," the desk clerk said airily, like it happened all the time, "Tommy Lee Jones is here with Pamela Anderson. They're like paparazzi magnets. Wait until later tonight, there will be twice as many as them out there."

"Oh," Kurt said, not really feeling any better. He turned and looked out the large glass front windows. Most of the photographers were seated again, smoking, reading, or chatting with each other, though one of the more enthusiastic ones pressed his lens against the glass and took Kurt's picture. "They can't see into the rooms, can they?"

"Oh no! Of course they can't," the clerk said with a laugh. She handed Kurt a set of key cards, one for the door and one for the bar.

Kurt took them and hoped she was right.

The hotel room was spacious and comfortable and as far as Kurt could tell, well insulated from prying eyes. He opened his suitcase on one bed and stretched out on the other with a glass of mini bar wine. It may have been ludicrously overpriced, was the production company's tab, so why not? And while he was sure that it hadn't been the requisite four to six hours between taking the last ones, he decided to take another of the pills that were prescribed to calm his nerves anyway. Squaring off with Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson's crowd of paparazzi had definitely made him nervous.

Finally he pulled out his folder of papers and sorted through them. Tomorrow he had to be at CBS studios for the Lateshow with David Letterman, which, ironically was filmed at 11am in the afternoon.

Finally having determined that it was letterman, and not Leno, he put those papers aside. He had arranged to see the Cirque's new show at Madison Square Garden the next night and they'd sent him a VIP pass so that was taken care of. That meant all he needed to do was make arrangements to meet up with Guy LaLiberté when he arrived in New York. He glanced through the hotel's concierge file and thought about site seeing.

Kurt sighed and emptied the rest of the bottle of wine into the glass. He wandered over to the window which was on a high enough floor that he could see some of the New York skyline stretching out in front of him. Setting the wine glass down he reached into his pocket where he always carried his rosary. He pulled it out and stared at it wondering why he bothered with it sometimes, other than the fact that he just didn't feel right without it.

He stared out the window in silence for a while, finishing the wine while holding the rosary in his other hand.

Authors Note: Exactly what is "The Nightscrawlearth storyline". Nightscrawlearth is a Role Playing game played on Nightscrawlers, a Nightcrawler fan forum. It takes place in a fictional universe in which mutants are not yet known or understood. Kurt Wagner is one of the few people have ever seen.

Most of the game takes place in the current time frame (approximately 2007) at a university run by Charles Xavier where Kurt is a professor and priest. These chapters are his early history along with that of the university.

The game is always eager to talk to potential new players and I hope you enjoy reading our work. URLs are available in my BIO page.

And another note: I grew up without a television and therefore, there are kind of obvious time disconnects in this story. It takes place during the 80s and yet there are some 90's stars around. I know, it's weird. And I apologize, I just didn't know who was famous when.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Preface:**

This story goes with a much larger universe, populated by many characters created by lots of different people. Because of that, it may not be very satisfying on it's own (or make a lot of sense since a lot of this back story exists solely to explain things that Nightcrawler, as Father Wagner, says and does almost 20 years later.)

To get the full picture I would suggest visiting and reading the following"instances" (the game's word for character interactions played outside the arc of the larger game plot) :

6/29 Instance: Fight fight!

7/05 - Deliberations, Negotiations, and Revelations.

7/10 Instance: Saint Wagner

7/17 Instance: Secret Mustard

7/23 Instance: Why Wagner is afraid of books

7/24 Instance: Twaching

christmas thread: Wagner

8/14 Instance: The Exorcist

8/19 Instance: Better than Monster Movies

8/24 Instance: Even Fruitcakes Have Layers

That should help get you started on who Father Wagner is and why this back story exists in the first place.

hr 

The next morning Kurt fought panic as he showered, dressed, in time to catch the limousine from CBS. He'd gotten the time zones mixed up and if it hadn't been for a polite call from his contact at CBS, who probably dealt with this thing all the time, he would have slept through the show. He wondered how obvious he sounded telling her that he was awake and ready to go, when he still had pillow marks on his face.

Kurt splashed some cold water on his face and stared in the mirror. He had to admit, he looked kind of hung over. Other than that he was okay. His black gabardine suit was nicely pressed and the black shirt he wore under it looked nice. He definitely had a good complexion for black. He brushed his hair aside with his fingers.

He washed another two of those pills down with the white wine from the mini bar, since that's all there was and he didn't have time for breakfast. Checking in the mirror again Kurt decided he was ready and went to meet his car.

The studio was bustling with activity and Kurt allowed himself to be led through a backstage maze until he'd been deposited in a chair at make up. The makeup artist seemed a little confused as what to do and after putting eyeliner on him with rather frightening results, wiped it off and suggested Kurt go as he was.

Almost immediately Kurt was led to the green room and told to sit on a couch to wait. The woman rattled of a series of instructions and then handed Kurt a sheet of paper that she said were potential questions that David might ask him. Kurt stared at the page, after she had left, watching the words swim in and out of focus. Perhaps drinking wine for breakfast had been a really bad idea, but it was too late now. He put the paper aside and shut his eyes.

"Mr. Wagner? Mr. Wagner?" Someone was shaking him awake. Kurt opened his eyes, disoriented.

"Was? Was Wollen Sie?"

"It's time for you to get ready to go on, Mr. Wagner."

Kurt sat up straighter and saw that it was a young woman with a clipboard and a headset. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said.

"You are ready to go on?" she asked.

Kurt nodded. "I'm ready. I'm fine. Jet lag, I think." He said.

"Follow me." The woman gestured to Kurt and he obediently trailed behind her. He scanned his memory – not wanting to tell her that he had momentarily forgotten what he was ready to go on for. He had some good clues though. He definitely wasn't dressed for the circus.

"Wait right here, on the line."

Kurt put his toes on the line and stared straight ahead. Right. This was the talk show, Letterman or Leno, or whoever he was. He'd had that list of questions and he hadn't read a single one. He was totally unprepared. He could feel beads of sweat popping out on his forehead.

"May I have a glass of water?" He asked the nearest stage hand.

A glass of water was pressed into his hand and as he sipped at it he thought about the pills in his jacket pocket. It definitely hadn't been four hours, but wondered if he could press his luck and take one more? That should be okay. It was national television after all. That would make anyone nervous.

He handed the empty glass back and took deep breaths. He used to be so comfortable on stage; he'd actually liked it. In the various circuses in Europe and then with Cirque, he couldn't get enough of packed houses and big crowds, or difficult stunts; the more challenging the better. What had changed? Why was he so different now?

Kurt shut his eyes for a moment. He was going to go out there and act natural. It wasn't a performance; it was just a conversation. Surely he could do that.

He listened off in the wings as they talked about his work with Cirque du Soleil and then as "Rik Goddard" (Kurt had never heard such a ridiculous sounding name) in Dying is Forever, and then suddenly they were announcing his name.

"Okay, Mr. Wagner, go!" the stagehands with their headsets were practically pushing him through the gap in the curtains.

Kurt stepped out into the spotlights, and as the applause started it was like something switched over in his brain. He wasn't nervous anymore. He could do this. Kurt smiled and waved which elicited a few catcalls from the woman in the audience. He started walk towards the small group of seats until he noticed that there was a woman in a headset standing backstage, frantically pointing and mouthing "marker, marker!" over and over again.

Kurt paused, momentarily confused. Then he realized, he was supposed to shake the host's hand from a marker behind the seats. Had they told him this? After a second of deliberation, Kurt hopped over the back of the chairs and shook Letterman's hand. Or was it Leno?

"Wow, that was something."

"Well, I like to do my own stunts," Kurt said . The audience laughed as Kurt walked around the chairs to sit down in the one closest to the desk.

"I think that was a first… The first stunt done, on this show." The host said to another round of laughter.

"So, how've you been? You've been living in Los Angeles haven't you?"

Kurt nodded. "I have small house there."

"And you like Los Angeles? Living in the U.S.?"

Kurt was confused. It all seemed so mudane. He'd come on television to talk about this? "It's different.- There's good and bad things," he said.

"So when are you getting ready to start with the production of iForever isn't Always/i?"

"What?"

"The sequel? To iDying is Forever/i, they're going to call it Forever isn't Always right?"

"Oh," Kurt was caught off guard. Were they? He'd been ignoring all his mail regarding his contracts for weeks. He didn't want to make another movie. He never wanted to make another movie for as long as he lived. "They could be," Kurt said. The audience laughed.

The host held up a piece of paper. "It says here on my sheet here they announced it last month and you're here promoting it. It says right here, look." He pointed.

Kurt was surprised when he was handed the page of notes, but it was snatched back before he'd had a chance to read any of it.

"Well… I haven't seen a script yet," Kurt said. He rubbed his eyes. How long was this interview anyway? "They don't tell me these things."

The host, Leno (or was it Letterman?) exchanged a series of goofy knowing winks with his band leader.

"Well, let's talk about this then. You're…" He paused for a moment, searching for the right words, "You've got some attributes that are unique to you and everybody's very curious about them."

"That's true," said Kurt.

"So, what do you say to that? Does it bother you? All this curiosity?"

Kurt was silent. Of course it bothered him, but could he say that? Would it make people angry or perhaps, would they leave him alone. Or maybe he could give a reason… Maybe he could explain it.

"I was born this way," Kurt said, "and growing up, in Germany there were a lot of people who were afraid of me. And now, instead I am, interesting person to them." Kurt cringed inwardly, his English was sounding all stilted and awkward, intelligible, but not intelligent.

"But it's not something I can help, not anymore than you can help having a prominent chin," Kurt continued.

"Actually, that's Jay Leno. iI'm/i David Letterman, I have the gap in my teeth."

Kurt shut his eyes. How embarrassing.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No, problem they get us confused all the time, though Leno would have been a much shorter trip for you. Anyway, you were saying?"

Kurt was silent. He covered his face with his hands and shook his head. He could hear the audience getting restless and at some point he could tell they'd gone to commercial.

"Mr. Wagner? Mr. Wagner, it's time to come off the stage now," a woman's soothing voice said.

Kurt allow himself to be steered back into what he'd thought at first was the green room, but it wasn't. He stared at the wall blinking back angry tears. How could he have been so stupid?

Authors Note: Exactly what is "The Nightscrawlearth storyline". Nightscrawlearth is a Role Playing game played on Nightscrawlers, a Nightcrawler fan forum. It takes place in a fictional universe in which mutants are not yet known or understood. Kurt Wagner is one of the few people have ever seen.

Most of the game takes place in the current time frame (approximately 2007) at a university run by Charles Xavier where Kurt is a professor and priest. These chapters are his early history along with that of the university.

The game is always eager to talk to potential new players and I hope you enjoy reading our work. URLs are available in my BIO page.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Preface:**

This story goes with a much larger universe, populated by many characters created by lots of different people. Because of that, it may not be very satisfying on it's own (or make a lot of sense since a lot of this back story exists solely to explain things that Nightcrawler, as Father Wagner, says and does almost 20 years later.)

To get the full picture I would suggest visiting and reading the following"instances" (the game's word for character interactions played outside the arc of the larger game plot) :

6/29 Instance: Fight fight!

7/05 - Deliberations, Negotiations, and Revelations.

7/10 Instance: Saint Wagner

7/17 Instance: Secret Mustard

7/23 Instance: Why Wagner is afraid of books

7/24 Instance: Twaching

christmas thread: Wagner

8/14 Instance: The Exorcist

8/19 Instance: Better than Monster Movies

8/24 Instance: Even Fruitcakes Have Layers

That should help get you started on who Father Wagner is and why this back story exists in the first place.

hr 

Kurt wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep or how. He was curled up on top of the bed's blankets, still wearing his suit and even his shoes. Kurt kicked them off and sat up. There was a glass of wine sitting on his bedside table. Rubbing his eyes, he picked it up and turned on the television. He wasn't even sure what time it was.

He flipped though the channels, found it was morning and that E! was playing his disastrous Letterman interview about once every half an hour. In between those times they seemed to take great joy in leading up to the big story by playing an abbreviated version that was just the part were he mixed up the hosts and then hid his face in his hands to hide his embarrassment. He flicked through the channels and saw it on at least two others. Kurt turned off the TV and finished the wine. He sat on the edge of the bed in the room's semi darkness with his head in his hands. Why was this even news? Surely there were more important things going on in the world. He just couldn't get a break.

Shedding his rumpled suit jacket, he walked across the room and opened the shades. He stared out at the city, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sun. He hated how trapped he felt. Then again, New York was a different place, a new city. No one at the airport had seemed to notice or care who he was. Maybe today could be different. The city, with the morning light glinting off the windows of apartment buildings and already hundreds of people out on the street going about their daily business, seemed to promise him anonymity. Pouring himself a fresh glass of wine, Kurt sat down at the desk and began to flip through the various tourist magazines. It would be nice to get out and see it. He'd been to New York with Cirque several times of course, but he hadn't done much exploring on his own.

Kurt ordered up room service, showering and changing while he waited for it to arrive. He also called the concierge so he could have his suit pressed and cleaned for tomorrow. By the time his breakfast arrived, dressed in a clean shirt and a pair of black jeans, he felt a lot better. So what if E! was running that stupid clip, he was going to go out and explore New York anyway.

While Kurt ate, he flipped though the magazines again and wrote a list of places he thought he might go. The museums sounded the most interesting, partially because he liked museums and also because he knew that people would be so busy looking at the exhibits, that they wouldn't bother to stare at him. As he finished breakfast, he thought about taking his anti-anxiety pills and decided against it. It had seemed they'd done more harm than good yesterday.

Down in the lobby, Kurt got a map from the concierge with the various museums marked and directions to each. He was close enough to walk if he wanted. It was spring in the city so it wasn't yet the oppressive heat of summer. The concierge promised him a beautiful day. Kurt thanked him and started towards the door, but no sooner had he stepped outside when he found himself once again facing Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson's paparazzi. Except, unlike yesterday, he hadn't acted like a drugged idiot on Late Night with David Letterman. Now he had. And so they were much more interested in him than they had been before.

Kurt stayed in the revolving door, and turned it all the way around until he was again inside the hotel. Back in the lobby Kurt wondered what to do. Were there other exits? He didn't want to go back to his room and spend the day there with the television and only the view out the window to remind him he was in New York rather than Los Angeles. On one side of the lobby was the entrance to a large posh restaurant, but Kurt had already eaten breakfast. On the other side was the hotel bar, with a soothing dark interior and plush chairs around small tables. The bar seemed the better choice.

Kurt ordered a Stoli on the rocks. He stayed at the bar and drank it quickly, looking through the wide entrance and across the lobby at the check-in desk. Perhaps, while he was in here, he would see Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson check out and then they would leave, taking their photographers with them.

Because this was ridiculous, Kurt thought, to be trapped inside a hotel by photographers. It briefly occurred to him to let them shout at him, take their pictures, ask their questions, and he would just ignore it, walk through like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. He'd seen other actors do it hundreds of times. Except those actors had never been part of a European circus freak show, had never had to listen to the names people called his mother while she rocked him quietly, pretending not to hear.

"Do you want another?"

"Huh?" Kurt looked around in surprise. He'd been concentrating on the check-in desk so hard, but thinking about so many other things that he'd forgotten anyone was in the room with him.

"Another Stoli?" The bartender asked.

Kurt was about to say "yes", but was overcome with the feeling that if he opened his mouth to speak he was going to start crying instead. Kurt nodded and pointed at the glass.

This was exactly why the doctor had prescribed those pills. He dug around in his jacket pocket until he found them. The bartender returned with a fresh drink. Kurt would have liked to have asked for water, but instead he took them with the vodka figuring that if he started crying in a hotel bar it would only become yet another newsworthy event.

He looked at his watch; it wasn't yet eleven in the morning. He glanced at his drink and then from the check-in desk to the gathered paparazzi outside. Kurt pulled the folded map out his pocket with all his directions to the Met, the Whitney, and the Natural History museum and crumpled it up. It was going to be a very long day.

Kurt frantically pulled a fresh shirt from his suitcase and threw it on the bed. In the bathroom he washed his face with cold water. It felt so good that he ran his whole head under the faucet. He stared at himself dripping in the mirror until he couldn't deny it. He was drunk.

Frowning, Kurt took his watch off and threw it clumsily across the room. He had forgotten to set it to New York time. The whole day he'd thought it was three hours earlier. He hadn't gone into the bar at eleven in the morning; it had been one in the afternoon. And now that he'd spent all day there, it wasn't four in the afternoon, but seven at night. He should have been at Madison Square Garden a half an hour ago, not to mention that he should have been sober. How was it going to look now when he showed up late?

For a moment Kurt debated not going at all. What was the point? His purpose was to ask Guy to meet with him, to ask for his help. Was Guy going to even have time to talk to him after the show, when everyone else wanted his attention? Plus, how did it look for him to arrive drunk and then ask for a meeting so he could ask for a job?

It looked terrible.

Kurt stared at the floor. Why was this happening to him? He was just trying to make things better, that was all. He didn't want to be a movie star. He hated all this attention. On a sudden impulse he reached into his pocket and found his rosary there and held it up to look at it. He used to pray the rosary every day with his mother. They always prayed it in German.

_iIch glaube an Gott, den Vater, den Allmächtigen, den Schöpfer des Himmels und der Erde, und an Jesus Cristus, seinen eingeborenen Sohn, unsern Herrn…/i_

The Father Almighty… Our Lord Jesus Christ… Kurt stared at the rosary in his hand. It all seemed so pointless. There certainly wasn't anyone looking out for him. It almost seemed like a joke that he carried it around. In a sudden burst of anger, Kurt threw it across the room. He watched it hit the wall and slide down it to join his watch on the floor.

The room clock said it was after 7:30. He'd wasted even more time. Kurt quickly dried his hair with a towel and changed his shirt. He looked in the mirror again. Did he look better or worse than yesterday? Did it even matter at this point? That feeling was back, the overwhelming desire to simply burst into tears. He sat down beside the bedside phone with a glass of water. He took two of his pills and washed them down with the whole glass. He had no idea if it was 4 hours or 6 ours or whatever. That didn't matter any more either. Kurt slowly picked up the handset on the phone. It was hard to dial and even harder to explain, but he finally got exactly what he wanted, a cab waiting for him at a side door, ready to take him to Madison Square Garden.

On the way out he stopped. He couldn't just leave it there. Kurt spent a moment searching through the carpet until he found his rosary. He stuffed it back into his pocket and hurried out the door.

The show had already started when Kurt arrived and so he was led to his seat through the darkness by a mime with a tiny blue flashlight. Kurt had only ever been a participant on stage at Cirque de Soleil's shows, but they seemed to get more opulent and elaborate with each passing year. Even the VIP seating, which had once been a block of seats with a spectacularly good view, had changed so that it was more like a plush nightclub; the seats grouped around tiny round tables while several contortionist waitresses circulated with trays of champagne cocktails. Kurt tried to signal that he wanted a glass of water, but ended up with a champagne flute instead. He sighed, slouching down in his seat and hoping not to be noticed.

Kurt only had a few fleeting memories of the show and of the scene backstage. There had been a beautiful aerialist performing a solo with red silks, wearing a nude colored unitard so that the performance was at the same time unbelievably intimate and yet utterly fantastic. Then seeing all of the artists running out on stage for their final bows; first in their costumes with full wigs and masks and then removing them to reveal the most recent collection of young athletic Europeans, Asians, and Americans that Cirque had gathered for their multinational circus.

Kurt had then followed the crowd to the backstage. Several of the performers recognized him and he tried to make small talk with them. Someone pushed another glass of champagne into his hand so they could toast the director, then the composer, then the movement coordinator, and then finally, arriving and pushing his way into the center of the throng like some kind of circus messiah, Guy Laliberté.

There were several other movie and television personalities there that Kurt didn't know, but everyone seemed to want all of them to pose together as a sort of credible back drop of fame for all the other VIP guests to take their photos against. Kurt stayed for a what seemed an interminable amount of time trying to remember to stare past the flashes not at them. Finally he wandered off in search of Guy again, but ran into a group of Russian acrobats who'd been on his tour first. They were drinking vodka, which was Kurt's preference anyway, and by the time they were done toasting to his visit and possible return and half a dozen other things that according to them, also required a toast, Kurt had no idea what was going on any more and even less of an idea of how he was going to get back to his hotel.

Authors Note: Exactly what is "The Nightscrawlearth storyline". Nightscrawlearth is a Role Playing game played on Nightscrawlers, a Nightcrawler fan forum. It takes place in a fictional universe in which mutants are not yet known or understood. Kurt Wagner is one of the few people have ever seen.

Most of the game takes place in the current time frame (approximately 2007) at a university run by Charles Xavier where Kurt is a professor and priest. These chapters are his early history along with that of the university.

The game is always eager to talk to potential new players and I hope you enjoy reading our work. URLs are available in my BIO page.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Preface:**

This story goes with a much larger universe, populated by many characters created by lots of different people. Because of that, it may not be very satisfying on it's own (or make a lot of sense since a lot of this back story exists solely to explain things that Nightcrawler, as Father Wagner, says and does almost 20 years later.)

To get the full picture I would suggest visiting and reading the following"instances" (the game's word for character interactions played outside the arc of the larger game plot) :

6/29 Instance: Fight fight!

7/05 - Deliberations, Negotiations, and Revelations.

7/10 Instance: Saint Wagner

7/17 Instance: Secret Mustard

7/23 Instance: Why Wagner is afraid of books

7/24 Instance: Twaching

christmas thread: Wagner

8/14 Instance: The Exorcist

8/19 Instance: Better than Monster Movies

8/24 Instance: Even Fruitcakes Have Layers

That should help get you started on who Father Wagner is and why this back story exists in the first place.

hr 

Kurt was surprised when his alarm clock went off. He'd set it? He didn't even know how to work this alarm clock. He sat up and for a few frantic moments, struggled with the tiny buttons, trying to shut off the noise. When he had finally silenced it, he sat a moment, breathing hard, trying to remember where he was.

It slowly came back to him. New York. He was in New York City. Then he remembered his disastrous television interview, the missed day of sight seeing, and going to see Cirque's show. He realized with a sudden pang of horror that while he could remember leaving for the show and knew he had been there, he couldn't remember anything else, such as what he had done while he was there and even more alarmingly, how he'd gotten back to his hotel room.

This meant that he had most likely never talked to Guy and thus never arranged to meet privately with him.

Kurt groaned, pulling his hair with his hands. The whole point of coming here, his whole reason for flying across the country and having to deal with all the additional stares and media attention, was lost. He might as well not have bothered to come at all. He shut his eyes wishing it were possible to somehow teleport all the way to Los Angeles, directly into his house, and never come out again.

He opened his eyes again and sat staring at the wall for a long time wondering if it was possible to be anymore of a failure than he'd already been. He was debating if raiding the mini-bar's small stock of airplane size vodka bottles was worth it, since this whole "I'm only going to drink wine in the room," charade had been completely pointless, when a small envelope on the bedside table caught his eye.

Kurt picked up and fumbled it open, staring at the small notecard inside.

_iKurt-_

_We should talk. Meet me at 2pm in the restaurant._

_-Guy LaLiberté/i_

Beneath Guy's neat script was the name of a hotel and a New York address.

Kurt held it up as though checking for forgery. Was this real? He couldn't remember being handed a note like this or even talking to Guy. But, Kurt reminded himself, that wasn't really meaningful. Since he could only remember a few things about the night before, it meant that one of the very important things he didn't remember, could have been arranging this meeting.

He looked at the clock at his beside. It was just a little after noon now. He'd set his alarm so he wouldn't miss the meeting? He didn't remember doing that either. Still, this was promising. Kurt sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He was shirtless, but still wearing his black jeans. Still that was better than sleeping in all his clothes.

Kurt stood up and realized that the reason he didn't feel hungover was probably because he was still slightly drunk. That was okay though. He could deal with that because maybe, finally, something was going to go right. He went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and then drank glass after glass of water until he was fairly sure he was normally hydrated again. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Kurt went to his closet and looked inside. His suit was there, hanging in plastic, cleaned and pressed exactly as he'd asked, which was good. But also on a hanger was one of his shirts. He took it out and stared at it.

It was the shirt he had worn yesterday when he'd left for the circus. He remembered that. He'd deliberately picked it to wear that night because he liked it and thought it looked good on him. It was a deep slate grey button down that he always though complimented his natural coloration rather than clashed with it. And Kurt still liked it, except that now it had blood all over it.

Kurt sat down on the edge of the bed again, still staring at it. Whose blood was this? His blood? Someone else's? How had it gotten there? Kurt looked around the room at one of the many mirrors that were supposed to make it appear larger and noticed for the first time that he had a bruise on one cheek and what looked like a cut on his lip. He looked from his reflection to the blood stained shirt and back, wishing he could remember something that would make all this make sense. Had he perhaps been in a fight? Had someone done this to him? And, oh God, had he perhaps injured someone else?

He didn't know. He couldn't remember.

Kurt stared at the card, still halfway out of its envelope on the nightstand, and suddenly it didn't seem so much like an invitation as an admonishment. What if he had done something horrible? What if Guy was going to tell him to go away and never come back; to make the Cirque du Soleil version of the infamous Hollywood rebuke, "You'll never work in this town again"? Since he had no idea what had happened, the possibilities were limitless. Kurt sat, frozen in place as his brain reeled through the endless array of outcomes when his phone rang.

He jumped. And then, his heart hammering, answered it. The instant he put the receiver to his ear his mouth went dry.

"Yes?" he whispered.

He was surprised to hear a curt woman's voice at the other end. "Mr. Wagner, this is the front desk. I'm calling to remind you of your 2pm appointment."

Kurt was momentarily speechless. It was though his entire world had become booby trapped, each one leading to 2pm of that day, an hour which was only getting closer. He didn't know when the next trap would spring next. He swallowed.

"Yes, my appointment. I know." Kurt managed and then plucking up courage read the name of the hotel and the address. "Is that far from here?"

"No, Mr. Wagner it's quite close. The concierge can give you directions."

"Okay." He was silent for a moment and thought perhaps she had hung up. "Oh, um, Miss?" he asked.

There was a long pause and then, "Yes, Mr. Wagner."

He knew he was reaching, but any clue at all would be helpful. "Do you… Do you know what the meeting is about?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I don't, Mr. Wagner."

"Okay," he said, "Um, thank you." With an efficient, "you're welcome" and a request to call the front desk if he needed any further assistance, Kurt heard the line click dead.

Kurt stood up. So, now it was here, his last full day in New York, and with it, a series of mysteries. He could try and do his best to ignore them, or he could go out and face them. He looked from the card, to the shirt, to the mirror, to the clock. So far his attempts to ignore things had all gone horribly. Kurt took a deep breath and tossed his shirt into the trash bin. He would face them.

Back in the lobby of the hotel Kurt had a strange sense of deja vú, but was determined to overlook it. He had caught a last glimpse of himself in the mirrored elevator walls and decided that, ignoring the bruise and the bags under his eyes, he looked pretty good. He had showered, combed his hair, and now dressed in his best suit again, looked and actually felt comparatively clear headed. He checked his watch, which had been retrieved and set to east coast time and saw that he had plenty of time to reach his destination.

He stood at the concierge desk casting baleful glances at the many photographers outside while she wrote out directions.

"When are they going to leave, uh, Pamela Anderson and her…" he couldn't remember his name, "her husband?" he tried to ask casually.

"Oh, they checked out yesterday" the concierge said brightly. "We have a lot of celebrities stay here, Mr. Wagner."

Kurt smiled wanly. "I've heard. Are there any… celebrities here now?" he asked.

The concierge flashed him another bright smile. "Only you, Mr. Wagner. Here you go?" She handed him his directions with another one of the hotel's small maps.

He couldn't even pretend to smile as he took the papers in his hand. Beyond her, Kurt could see out the window the crowd of random press who, even now were getting to their feet, brandishing cameras and removing lens caps like small army, preparing themselves for a siege in anticipation of his stepping through the front door.

Kurt thanked the concierge and then walked towards the door slowly, as though steeling himself for a showdown. Paparazzi were not allowed to pursue their quarry into hotels or restaurants and so they waited outside like this, hoping to grab any images or comments they could sell to the various tabloids and entertainment magazines. The more outrageous and scandalous the story the better, and given the way he'd been behaving since he'd arrived in New York, it seemed like they'd all come out and were now circling the hotel like buzzards just waiting for him to do or say something stupid so they could cash in on it.

Of course, it was possible that he could go out there and present himself as totally collected and coherent and make some sort of statement of explanation. However, since he regularly fell to pieces in the presence of too much press even at the best of times, Kurt didn't really trust himself to do that. So, this left him with going out there and leaving himself at their mercy, returning to his room, hiding in the bar like yesterday, or…

It was so obvious!

Kurt nearly smacked his forehead in irritation. Why was he walking through the door at all? Kurt changed direction, instead walking the length of the glass-fronted lobby until he could see well past the entrance, almost two blocks away. Many of the more dogged photographers followed him from outside, trying to take photos through the glass. It didn't matter, though because all Kurt needed to do was find a place suitably private and reasonably far away. Downtown Manhattan lacked alleyways, but still, there were places that were tucked out of the way, dark storefronts and other small nooks offering a bit of shelter from the sidewalks. Sure, he was going to draw some attention to himself, but that was unavoidable. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before.

Kurt looked at the map a moment to make sure he was going in the right direction and then, smiling and waving to the paparazzi, teleported out of the lobby.

Authors Note: Exactly what is "The Nightscrawlearth storyline". Nightscrawlearth is a Role Playing game played on Nightscrawlers, a Nightcrawler fan forum. It takes place in a fictional universe in which mutants are not yet known or understood. Kurt Wagner is one of the few people have ever seen.

Most of the game takes place in the current time frame (approximately 2007) at a university run by Charles Xavier where Kurt is a professor and priest. These chapters are his early history along with that of the university.

The game is always eager to talk to potential new players and I hope you enjoy reading our work. URLs are available in my BIO page.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Preface:**

This story goes with a much larger universe, populated by many characters created by lots of different people. Because of that, it may not be very satisfying on it's own (or make a lot of sense since a lot of this back story exists solely to explain things that Nightcrawler, as Father Wagner, says and does almost 20 years later.)

To get the full picture I would suggest visiting and reading the following"instances" (the game's word for character interactions played outside the arc of the larger game plot) :

6/29 Instance: Fight fight!

7/05 - Deliberations, Negotiations, and Revelations.

7/10 Instance: Saint Wagner

7/17 Instance: Secret Mustard

7/23 Instance: Why Wagner is afraid of books

7/24 Instance: Twaching

christmas thread: Wagner

8/14 Instance: The Exorcist

8/19 Instance: Better than Monster Movies

8/24 Instance: Even Fruitcakes Have Layers

That should help get you started on who Father Wagner is and why this back story exists in the first place.

hr 

Guy's hotel was closer than Kurt expected. In fact, he was actually early. Kurt looked around. This hotel was a little nicer than his, not that his wasn't very nice; it was the kind of class establishment that Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson booked into after all. Still, Guy's was the kind of hotel that billionaire circus owners checked into and it showed. The restaurant and the bar were attached so Kurt wandered in and ordered a drink, checking his watch to make sure he wasn't going to be late.

It was a pleasant bar, dimly lit with high backed booths and several tall tables. Kurt was standing, watching the entrance of the restaurant so intently that he didn't expect it when Guy came striding up to him from a different direction. Guy was dressed in his usual black suit and shirt with his hair shorn almost to nothing. He was exactly as Kurt remembered him. Everything about him was efficient from the way he ran the circus to the way he walked. The man never changed.

"I've only got half an hour and my assistant might come and interrupt us," Guy said. Then he looked around. "I thought we were meeting in the restaurant."

Kurt started to answer, but before he could say anything Guy said, "This is fine, we can order from the menu in here too, is this alright? Good." Guy slid into a booth and Kurt wordlessly followed him.

Guy never seemed to waste a moment so within seconds of sitting down they were looking at menus and ordering. Kurt wasn't even sure what he was getting since he'd simply said "I'll have the same" after Guy gave the waiter his complex and exact order, which Kurt hadn't really been paying attention to. It didn't matter; he really hadn't come here to eat anyway.

"Michelle says you want to come back," Guy said.

The waiter set down plates. They were eating spinach leaf salads and some kind of tomato bisque; that wasn't so bad. Kurt picked at his while Guy ate quickly, like he hadn't eaten in a week.

"Well, yes." Kurt said. He hadn't expected Guy to know what he wanted to meet about; it did make things easier though.

"You don't like the movie business?"

Kurt shook his head. "Not really."

"I saw it. You did all your stunts right? It was pretty good circus I thought." Guy finished his salad and pushed the plate aside to start on the soup.

"Yeah, the filming was okay…" Kurt began. He finished his drink. He wondered how much he should tell Guy. Should he tell him about how much he hated people following him around or that he didn't like seeing his name in print. He didn't even know how to explain it anymore. He just hated… everything.

"I miss performing," Kurt began, "making the film, I only got to perform for such a short time and the rest of it has been publicity. I think I'd rather perform more and do less publicity. I miss being part of a company, working with a creative team instead of following a script. I want to be anonymous again." Kurt was shocked by his own words. That had been almost… coherent. He looked up at Guy, waiting for a response.

Unfortunately Guy said, "One second Kurt," and motioned for his assistant who had been standing a few steps away to come forward. Guy leaned out of the booth and they had a brief mumbled conversation that Kurt couldn't hear. Guy turned his attention back to Kurt. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Kurt frowned. What had he said? He'd put it so well just a minute ago. "I just think I'd be better off returning to performing where I had… anonymity."

Guy smiled. "You're never really going to have true anonymity Kurt. People are always going to notice you're different."

"I know but…" Kurt wished he hadn't brought it up. That wasn't the point. "It's worse now."

"So what do you want me to do?"

Kurt took a deep breath. This was the important part. "I… I'm contracted to do two films. I've only done one. I don't want to do the second, but I can't breach my contract. I don't have the money. I thought maybe…"

"You want me to buy out your contract? Free you from making the second film?" Guy asked.

"Yes," Kurt said, relieved he didn't have to explain anymore.

"Then what?"

"I'd come work for you. I'd … pay you back, in wages, for as long as it takes. I…" Kurt didn't want to sound too desperate, but he needed this to happen. He would have done anything.

Guy looked at him critically for a moment. Finally he sighed. "Kurt, you were and will probably always be the best aerialist I have ever worked with. I would love to have you on the show again."

Kurt's hopes rose. He was going to say yes.

"But, we just finished a new production and we don't have one in the works for another three years," Guy continued, "I'd have to put you on one of the touring shows and to be honest Kurt, I'm looking at you and I don't think you could do it."

Kurt shook his head. This couldn't be happening. "No, I'll work hard. I can start training now if you want. I'll do whatever you want."

Guy smiled and sadly shook his head. "Then listen to me, Kurt. Go back to Los Angeles. Make your second movie and don't sign any more contracts. There are a lot of good aerialist coaches in that area, start working with one of them. Quit drinking. Then you can come back. Okay?"

"No. Please, I need to do this now. They're making me look like a freak. I can't stand it." Kurt said. It didn't matter if he sounded desperate anymore.

Guy looked at his watch and stood up. "I'm sorry, my time is up," he said. Guy leaned down and put his hand on Kurt's shoulder. "The only one making you look like a freak is you. Right now, Cirque can't afford your press. I'm very sorry, Kurt."

Kurt stood up to watch Guy leave, and then he slumped back down in the booth. So that was it. He'd asked and now he had his answer. It was over. He would have to go back to L.A. now, live in his house, make another movie… It would never end.

Authors Note: Exactly what is "The Nightscrawlearth storyline". Nightscrawlearth is a Role Playing game played on Nightscrawlers, a Nightcrawler fan forum. It takes place in a fictional universe in which mutants are not yet known or understood. Kurt Wagner is one of the few people have ever seen.

Most of the game takes place in the current time frame (approximately 2007) at a university run by Charles Xavier where Kurt is a professor and priest. These chapters are his early history along with that of the university.

The game is always eager to talk to potential new players and I hope you enjoy reading our work. URLs are available in my BIO page.s


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Preface:

This story goes with a much larger universe, populated by many characters created by lots of different people. Because of that, it may not be very satisfying on it's own (or make a lot of sense since a lot of this back story exists solely to explain things that Nightcrawler, as Father Wagner, says and does almost 20 years later.)

To get the full picture I would suggest visiting and reading the following"instances" (the game's word for character interactions played outside the arc of the larger game plot) :

6/29 Instance: Fight fight!

7/05 - Deliberations, Negotiations, and Revelations.

7/10 Instance: Saint Wagner

7/17 Instance: Secret Mustard

7/23 Instance: Why Wagner is afraid of books

7/24 Instance: Twaching

christmas thread: Wagner

8/14 Instance: The Exorcist

8/19 Instance: Better than Monster Movies

8/24 Instance: Even Fruitcakes Have Layers

That should help get you started on who Father Wagner is and why this back story exists in the first place.

hr 

The waiter came and cleared away the plates and Kurt ordered another Stoli on the rocks. He buried his head in his arms, resting them on the table. He didn't want to go back to Los Angeles. If he was here to promote the new movie on television then that meant they were going to actually start filming it soon. There would be scripts and casting and costumes. Kurt sighed. He didn't want to make another movie; he wanted to go home. Except, he'd spent his entire life traveling so he didn't know where home was.

He heard the sound of his drink being set down and he picked his head up.

"Can I get another one?" He asked as he searched though his wallet. How much was a drink at a billionaire circus owner's hotel in New York anyway?

"I'll put it on the tab, sir," the waiter turned around and walked away. Kurt sipped his drink pondering this. He had a tab?

It was on his fourth drink (or maybe it was his fifth, he wasn't sure) that Kurt realized that it was actually Guy's tab, not his. It didn't seem to matter anymore by then though, and instead of clearing up the matter he stayed there until the bartender refused to serve him anymore.

Stepping out on to the sidewalk Kurt figured his best way back to his hotel was to call a cab, but after hailing one and sitting down inside it, he realized he'd forgotten both the name and address. For a moment he debated going back into Guy's hotel. Guy had mentioned Michelle. She was his personal assistant now and Kurt was fairly sure he'd seen her backstage at the show the night before. And afterward… Maybe. He wasn't sure.

But Michelle had started out as a talent agent, traveling around Europe looking for new artists and acts for Cirque du Soleil in its earlier days. It was Michelle who'd flown with him to Montreal, the two of them speaking French because he couldn't speak English and she couldn't speak German. She was the one who looked out for him in the beginning. He was sure that if he could find her, she would help him. Though, how did you find out which hotel one was staying in when they themselves didn't know?

"Stay in? Or to go out?" A gruff voice asked and Kurt realized he had been pondering all this while still sitting in the cab.

"Out. Sorry." Kurt pushed the door open and clumsily climbed back out.

Back on the street Kurt looked around again and decided that if he just started walking that may be he would remember on the way. There was also the possibility that he would get even more hopelessly lost, but he tried not to consider it. He had walked there after all, perhaps his feet would remember the way back?

His thoughts strayed to his pills, which were still in his suit pocket though he had to admit he was more numb than nervous. He started hunting for them anyway, but it was impossible to concentrate on standing and searching at the same time so he sat down on the cement with his back against a wall. Kurt found both the pills and a hotel key card in his breast pocket.

Putting the pills back untouched Kurt pulled himself back up and asked the first person who didn't shy away from him where the hotel on his card was. At least, he thought he was asking where it was. He wasn't sure if he was speaking English or not.

He had to ask every block or so but eventually someone gave him a strange look and pointed across the street. For a moment Kurt was relieved, but it was only momentary because he hadn't even considered that the photographers and other press who had been there when he'd left would still be outside waiting for him to return. And of course they were. In fact, they had probably been taking pictures of him the whole time he had been asking directions to a hotel he was standing in front of.

Momentarily stunned by the whole situation, Kurt was at a loss. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. He wondered if it would be possible to just teleport into nothingness. Would he just disintegrate? Was it even possible? It didn't sound like such a bad thing. Then again, Kurt realized, he had teleported out of the hotel that afternoon, why not just teleport back in?

Kurt shut his eyes, trying to concentrate. He had never been able to teleport if he'd been drinking. He usually didn't even try it. Picturing the lobby of the hotel, or was that he the lobby of Guy's hotel he was imagining now, he wasn't sure; Kurt tried anyway. When he opened his eyes, however, he discovered he'd only managed to teleport himself into the exact same spot he'd been standing. He tried again with the same results. Kurt dropped to his knees. Somehow it was more exhausting to teleport nowhere than it was to teleport somewhere.

Ignoring traffic, the photographers without zoom lenses were crossing the street. He had to try again. Kurt climbed to his feet. It had to work this time. Except it didn't. Something hard and gritty seemed to spring up and hit him in the face and after his vision cleared from the shock of it, Kurt realized that it was pavement. The sidewalk hadn't hit him; he'd fallen on it. There was nothing to do but get up and try again, but he couldn't. Then the world seemed to grow dark, closing in on itself until it went out.

hr 

Authors Note: Exactly what is "The Nightscrawlearth storyline". Nightscrawlearth is a Role Playing game played on Nightscrawlers, a Nightcrawler fan forum. It takes place in a fictional universe in which mutants are not yet known or understood. Kurt Wagner is one of the few people have ever seen.

Most of the game takes place in the current time frame (approximately 2007) at a university run by Charles Xavier where Kurt is a professor and priest. These chapters are his early history along with that of the university.

The game is always eager to talk to potential new players and I hope you enjoy reading our work. URLs are available in my BIO page.


	9. Chapter 9

Kurt opened his eyes with a start.

He was on a busy sidewalk in New York and people were taking pictures of him. He had to get up and move, go somewhere else, anywhere else. Now.

Except that they weren't. He wasn't. He was alone and indoors.

Kurt looked around. He was lying in a big bed in a very peaceful and sunny room with several large windows that looked out on to trees. It was definitely not his hotel room. Tossing the covers aside he realized he was also wearing pajamas that weren't his either. Besides the fact that he'd never owned pajamas like these, he could tell by the hole that appeared to have been hastily cut in the back for his tail.

Standing at the window to get a better look out of the windows Kurt could see he was at some kind of estate; green lawns and woods stretched out towards a surrounding brick wall. It was very nice but…

He was mystified. Where was he?

The doorknob rattled and Kurt dove back under the covers, shutting his eyes and pretending to still be asleep.

Kurt could hear the door opening and footsteps crossing the room and then stopping.

"Hank McCoy."

Kurt kept his eyes shut. Who was Hank McCoy?

"Look, there's no point in it. Charles says you're awake, and if Charles says you're awake, well… I believe him."

Kurt opened one eye. Standing before him was one of the most unusual looking people he'd ever seen. He was beginning to think maybe he was dreaming all of this, which meant that perhaps he'd dreamed the photographers as well, and the meeting with Guy. Maybe he was still in his house in Los Angeles?

Then again…

"Who are you?" Kurt asked, sitting up.

"Hank McCoy. Doctor Hank McCoy if you like."

"And where is this?"

Hank McCoy gestured around the room. "You are enjoying the hospitality of the Xavier Estate. This house and all that surround it belong to Charles Xavier. You are his guest."

"Oh." Kurt said. That made no sense at all. He wasn't enjoying any of this.

Dr. McCoy shook something and Kurt looked up. "Not taking as directed are we?"

"What?" Then Kurt realized that Hank was holding up his pills. "Ah," he said, trying not to sound sheepish, "they're for my nerves."

Dr. McCoy smirked and put them back in his pocket. Kurt scratched his head. "Is this… Some kind of strange celebrity rehab place or something? That cures people by confusing them?" He asked.

Hank laughed. "I'm afraid not."

"Oh." Kurt said again. He wasn't sure what to say after that. He looked around the room some more, still not sure how he'd gotten here or why. Even more frustrating was that the doctor sat down in a chair across from him and didn't appear to be leaving.

Hank stared at his patient, finally truly awake and talking. So this was Kurt Wagner. He wasn't really quite sure why Xavier wanted Kurt so badly, other than the fact that he was fascinating; he was absolutely physically, medically, and scientifically fascinating, but otherwise Hank wasn't so sure.

He'd first seen Kurt at a Cirque du Soleil performance and once he realized that it wasn't a costume or a trick, that what he was seeing was a man who was as different as he was, he immediately sprang into action, researching as much as he could into a blue circus acrobat who came from Europe. There was very little, other than the fact that there was indeed a rather celebrated young acrobat from Germany who always performed in the guise of a sort of blue devil character. It was a dead end.

Hank didn't have to wait long though, a few years later, the media was buzzing with talk about Kurt Wagner. It was interesting at first and Kurt seemed to become an almost instant media icon; despite the fact that his appearance was such a radical departure from normal, he was also exceptionally handsome, shy, and charming, the camera seemed to love him as much as he appeared to hate it. That quickly disintegrated into something that was much less appealing to Hank, as Kurt seemed to buckle under the pressure of so much attention though. He'd quickly lost interest.

So Hank's first real meeting with Kurt, where he wasn't limp and unconscious, during which Kurt had belligerently cursed at him in at least four different languages, tried to claw at his eyes, kicked him, and refused to hold still while Hank examined the cuts on his face, hadn't really impressed him. Charles had eventually forced Kurt to be still, and then things had gone smoother, but Hank still had his doubts. They were supposed to be the "architects for the future of 'mutant-kind'" as Charles called them. Hank's unusual hulking physical presence had earned him the nickname of "The Beast" in medical school, but he had wondered if perhaps now it wasn't a misplaced nickname that better applied to Kurt.

Then again, now sitting across from him, looking around the room contemplatively, Kurt gave him a somewhat different impression.

Hank wasn't sure if he should say something to Kurt, tell him why his was here maybe, or who Charles Xavier was since Kurt most definitely didn't know. He was about to launch into his prepared speech when the door opened again and Charles rolled end. Hank was relieved. Let Charles give HIS prepared speech to Kurt.

Except that Kurt seemed to recognize Charles.

"Wait, I… I've seen you before." Kurt said, as Xavier entered. He drew his knees up close. There was nothing more vulnerable than wearing pajamas when everyone else was dressed, particularly pajamas like these. Kurt frowned.

"We met once before. I came to see you, if you remember," Charles said to Kurt.

Kurt shook his head. "You just look familiar," he said, "But…" Kurt was still trying to figure out how he'd gotten here, to Ithis/I place. He looked back and forth between Hank and Charles, rubbing his eyes with both hands as he tried to think. "I remember… I was lost, well not lost, but I just didn't know where I was. But there were people taking pictures of me I think, and…"

"You collapsed on the sidewalk outside your hotel," Charles said matter-of-factly.

So he had. Kurt could almost remember it, the sickening feeling of exhaustion and nausea as he'd tried to teleport, the confusion of being unable to rise. There was a second feeling, an even more sickening feeling of …inevitability. Kurt looked around quickly but saw the room had no television. Still, he knew it was on there. He knew it was everywhere. He leaned forward, curling up with his head still buried in his hands. Not again. God, please, not again.

"Unfortunately at the most crucial moment, the cameras all malfunctioned and the reporters found other things to focus on." Charles said.

Kurt picked his head up. What did that mean?

"You'll find," Charles continued, "that the press has no memory of that event, no recordings, and no source material of any kind. They are therefore unable to report it at all."

Kurt was staring at Charles, because how could he possibly mean what he seemed to be saying.

"We've bailed you out from looking like an idiot in public yet again," Hank said after Kurt continued to stare at them for several more minutes.

"Henry," Charles admonished.

But at the same time Kurt said, "how?"

"Just as you have special abilities," Charles began "so do I," he finished, except with a voice inside Kurt's head. Kurt jumped.

"You talk inside people's heads."

"More than that," Charles said, "I can affect their thoughts, control them even I want to."

Kurt appeared vaguely uncomfortable with the idea and then he glanced over to Hank. "What can you do?" he asked.

"Same as you," Hank said.

"You can teleport?"

"Ah, no. I was more referring to the display of daring stunts and extreme athleticism."

Kurt frowned. Hank didn't look like an acrobat, but he didn't feel like arguing. "But, why? I mean, why did you stop the people with the cameras? Why am I here?"

"That Kurt," Charles said, "Is a very important question. And one I will be most pleased to answer."


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt stared at his hands. He hadn't really put much thought into them over the years. They had been… his hands, different from everybody else's hands yes, but just his. He hadn't every thought about why that might be or what it might mean.

But Charles Xavier, and Hank McCoy too wanted to give it a name. He, and they were "mutants". And they weren't the only ones. And they wouldn't be the last ones either. They were the first of many, they told him. According to Charles there would be more born each year, people who would slowly grow to discover expanding capabilities beyond their own humanity, like Charles' telepathy, Hank's special agility, and Kurt's teleportation.

None of it explained why Kurt was born the way he was though and that's why they were so curious about him. According to Charles mutants were born with normal human appearance an abilities, that's what made Kurt so special. That was why they needed his help. It was why Charles was willing to pay out his movie contract and let him stay with them here in New York so that together they could work on a plan to help prepare the world for "the advent mutantkind", as Charles put it.

Kurt had asked to think about it.

And so now he was alone again, staring out the window at the lawns and forests of Charles Xavier's estate.

What they had told him was different from everything he had ever known. In the circus he had been Kurt; just blue Kurt. No one had ever really questioned it or tried to explain why he was different, just that he was and that was it. It gave him special abilities and was inconveniencing at times as well, but no one ever thought to give it a name. No one ever tried to classify him. Beyond his own childish notions of someday seeing others like him, no one else had ever suggested that there really were more of him out there or that there would ever _be_ more like him.

It was like a childhood dream come true and yet somehow not. This wasn't how he had imagined how things would turn out at all.

He thought about his mother and his family. He had never met any of them except for her, not even his own father, and she never talked about him. And she'd only ever explained a little bit of why this was, that her family had been ashamed of her for having such a monstrous child and but as a Catholic she'd felt wrong to simply "dispose" of him as she said they put it. So she ran away to the circus, the only place where she knew Kurt would be unconditionally accepted for exactly what he was.

Kurt could remember some of this, vaguely. He could remember a time when he was simply put on display, with his mother holding him so crowds could jeer at them. But he remembered other things as well, such as the discovery that he could climb and balance on almost anything and that with that discovery came the knowledge that he could "buy" his mother's freedom by becoming a big top performer instead of a freak show attraction.

He also remembered going to church with her everyday and how they always sat in front because "the people may not recognize an angel when they see one, but the priest always will", as she put it. And she was right. No one ever laughed or pointed at them in church the way they did at the circus. It was his sanctuary. So it was strange, Kurt thought, that he'd stopped going to church entirely now. He didn't even know why.

But wasn't this all just a return to those early days just with a different audience. Now instead of paying customers they would be this Charles Xavier and Dr. Hank McCoy. And instead of seeing him as an amusing novelty, he had merely been elevated to "fascinating medical curiosity". It sounded like a better deal for them than it did for him to be certain. All he got out of it was a chance to be stared at by a different group of people in a different way.

The door opened and Charles rolled in, alone this time.

"So, Kurt, have you thought it over?" he asked.

Kurt looked up.

"Yes," he said. "I want to go home, back to Los Angeles."


End file.
